


Koibito

by Qt3_14



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Sickfic, Someone Help Will Graham, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26926819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qt3_14/pseuds/Qt3_14
Summary: Ever since that day on the dark shore, Will has had a violent storm swirling in his mind, threatening to rip him apart.
Relationships: Chiyoh & Will Graham, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 69





	Koibito

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Near drowning and wounds, not in depth, nothing that isn’t in cannon.

He felt as though the saltwater would never leave his lungs, and the sand would forever stick to his skin. It felt like he spent an eternity, on that dark shore, trying to claw the other man back to life.

His mind’s view of those moments are askew and blurry, he doesn’t remember shutting his eyes or someone approaching them. He was on that beach one second, and blinking awake in soft sheets the next.

His only coherent thoughts when he came to was _thirsty, danger, **Hannibal**_. A figure would loom over him, providing a straw and medicine, rough hands checking the bandages on his cheek and shoulder. He couldn’t make out much, but he knew this figure wasn’t Hannibal.

The Lithuanian man’s stance and form was different, his hands bigger and more gentle. He could be a cartographer for Hannibal, mapping out each callous, each scar, each birthmark he owned. Could note which bones had been broken, which of those healed correctly and which of those didn’t. What parts of him changed in the years apart, which parts didn’t. Could write a guide on how to read every facial expression and every note in his voice. What a slight quirking of lips meant, what he was thinking when his eyes shone like that, how he felt when the Lithuanian in him seeped out more then normal.

Yahweh took Will’s rib, and from it blossomed Hannibal. Destined to be companions, through life and death, through serpents and expulsion, through blood and bones. He knew every inch of Hannibal’s body and soul, as his other half knew Will’s body and soul. Phantom scratches and bruises flourished on his skin wherever Hannibal was marked. They were constantly reacting, altering each other’s molecular structure. They were tethered together, forever conjoined, no matter where they were in the universe.

He could barley make out the figure’s words, but he didn’t need to. He felt Hannibal’s stable breathes, and his heartbeat beating steadily in his chest. His other part was alive. They were alive. Together.

—

It had been a few days when Will was fully conscious, out of his wispy half alive half asleep state. The Figure he had learned, was Chiyoh, explaining to him that she found them washed up, on the brink of death. Hannibal was still under Will’s shaking hands. His mind was a thick cloud and all he could think and do was try to save the man under him. He hadn’t even noticed Chiyoh until she was taking over for him, performing more effective chest compressions on the taller man lying in the sand. Breathing life back into his lungs and manually beating his heart for him. Will knows these things from her retelling, not from his own memories. To him, all he could recall were thick layers of pain and anguish, how fear completely took over his mind and body. He only remembers panic and his violent trembles. Chiyoh quietly told him he was crying and screaming. He hadn’t even heard it.

—

Days slurred together and it quickly bled into a week since the fall. Will was regaining more mobility each day, his legs stopped shaking every time he stood, and he wasn’t constantly dizzy anymore. But even when his head spun wildly and his legs would falter, he would always find a way to weasel into Hannibal’s room. More often then not Chiyoh would find his bed abandoned, sometimes things knocked over. She’d scold him for being so brash, that he’s going to rip his stitches, drag him back to bed, make him get some sleep. But no matter what she did, he always wound up in the plush chair next to Hannibal’s bedside, leaning so close to the bed he’d probably topple over, both hands on one of Hannibal’s.

Hannibal hadn’t woken up yet. A few times his eyes cracked open, but he wasn’t truly there. Will had never seen his eyes so glazed and unfocused. Hannibal was always sharp, attentive. He was none of those things now. 

His injuries worsened in the water, Chiyoh had explained to him. He probably hit some rocks, been jostled around, his bullet wound severely worsened. He was shivering and sweating through fevers and infections, the most movement he showed being turning over or kicking off the covers when his skin was scorching.

He did his best to help. Wrapping him in blankets when a bone deep chill claimed him, turning on the fan when he was burning up, lifting water carefully to his dry and chapped lips. But it wasn’t enough. It never could be.

Every moment he spent at Hannibal’s side, he held his hand, his bruised hands gliding over his other half‘s hand, resting on his pulse. Reassuring himself with that steady rhythm that they were alive. They had survived, together, and it was going to stay that way.

—

His scruffy locks were sticking up in every direction as he was hunched over, lying on his non-injured cheek. The other man’s big slender hand was pressed flush to his face, being cradled by one of his own. Soft snores were starting to set in place when The Figure appeared in the doorframe.

He had been used to this dance- or more accurately, fight, of theirs. Chiyoh trying to pry him away from Hannibal, get him to his own bed, where he had his own medicine and wounds to tend to. He had her scolding speech forever imprinted in his mind, a script that she always followed perfectly.

“Yeah, I know I’ll be there soon just.. just a few more minutes.” He murmured, more towards Hannibal’s hand, but still spoken.

No matter what he said she would still launch into her almost motherly tone of voice, but the air around them was empty of sound.

She watched them carefully. Those eyes that could take down ten guys without flinching, their practiced focused steel weighing on Will. The Hawk was waiting for her prey, dead quiet in her stalking.

Will nervously shifted upwards, looking in her general direction, but not specifically at her. He had gotten better with eye contact, but he would never get used to her razor sharp observations. He didn’t let go of Hannibal’s hand.

“Koibito.”

He met her eyes reluctantly, understanding she demanded full focus. Her eyes held something he had never seen in them before, not gentleness but a sort of calculating, not the cold one she usually wore. There were more in them, rich thoughts and emotions brewing behind her stone slate.

“The Japanese word for lover.”

He felt the echo of their past conversation, but could feel how much heavier these words were, how the air between them was now completely different. The Hawk had observed, she had studied, and she had drawn up her conclusion. Koibito.

Bedelia felt so distant, but her words were powerful waves in the room with him, threatening to fill his lungs with salt water again. Words that rattled his head everyday since they were spoken. 

_“But do you... ache.. for him?”_

He swallowed thickly, his eyes focused on the slender, long but strong hand beneath him. His healing knuckles and bony fingers, the soft pads of his fingers.

“Yes. Koibito. Nakama.”

It felt as though a suffocating feeling that surrounded Will had finally lied to rest. A feeling he didn’t even recognize was there until he could drink gulps of air clearly, for what felt like the very first time.

—

Chiyoh had wordlessly moved all of Will’s items into Hannibal’s room that night. All of his medicine, his own glasses of water, His medical supplies strewn out, to match the nightstand on Hannibal’s side.

He cautiously crawled under the linen sheets and soft wool blankets. The bed was not very big, and while they weren’t touching, they were inches apart. After he settled, seeing Hannibal go undisturbed, he let out a breathe he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His body melted into the warmth incasing him, but not from the fluffy blankets and soft sheets. His body bled out every bit of tension at being able to hear Hannibal, his heartbeat dancing through his own body, his soft breathes, flowing in and out of him. His constant, never ending reminder that Hannibal was alive that helped calm the swirling storm in his head. He felt safe there, completely enveloped in his other half’s warmth and scent. For the first time in what felt like years, he felt as though he was truly home.

—

Soft light danced behind his eyelids, he smelled the scent of pancakes in the distance, and heard the nature outside waking up to greet the day. He was safe, wrapped up in warm blankets, and gentle digits carding through his hair. He felt the soft palm press into his cheek, slender fingers curling to cup his face like the most gentle thing on the planet. His eyes fluttered opened.

Mahogany met the ocean’s deep green-blue. His face was soft with a smile curled into his chapped lips.

“Good morning, mano mylimiausia.”

_—_

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are greatly appreciated :-)


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